The Least Annoying
by xXdreameaterXx
Summary: Katniss joins Haymitch every other night to drink or talk. Her thoughts about this unlikely friendship. Just a teensy little bit hinted at Haymiss. Set during Catching Fire. OneShot.


**The Least Annoying**

I wake up and take in a deep, deep breath. The realisation of this night's dream crashes down on my as if the ceiling over my head has just collapsed. I notice that the oil lamp on my bedside table has burned out and the darkness holds me in its firm grip. I've made a habit out of sleeping with the light on and I know that if I don't pull myself together very soon I am going to end up exactly like Haymitch.

But how exactly am I going to pull myself together? Peeta and I have been the victors of the 74th Hunger Games. I've made a dangerous enemy in President Snow, who could kill me and everyone that I love at any moment. And if that wasn't enough I am going to participate in the upcoming Quarter Quell as well, although the fact that I am practically dead doesn't scare me half as much as my nightmares. I've made my piece with death the moment Prim's name was called during the reaping.

I get up, knowing I won't be able to go back to sleep. I need air. I need space. I need the coldness to clear my aching head. I can't help but think that the Victor's Village looks like a ghost town in the middle of the night. All of these houses are empty, except my own, Peeta's and the house owned by Haymitch. The others are filled with the sheer emptiness of hopes and dreams never lived. The people destined for those houses are dead. Every single one of them from every year since the second Quarter Quell. Almost 50 people from my district have died since the year Haymitch won. I feel bad for my mother and Prim as they will have to move back into our old house as soon as I'm dead. I really should clear things up for them so they will at least have food and a little money. Peeta won't let them starve, I know that. But should everything go wrong, like Peeta volunteering or him dying in the Games despite my best efforts, I have to make sure that Haymitch will look after them. He owes me at least that.

My feet find the path to his house much quicker than I actually think about going there. Maybe my body is just attracted by the only source of light, or going to Haymitch's house in the middle of the night has become such a habit that I don't even have to think about it any more.

I don't knock because I know he won't hear it anyway. Haymitch is sitting at the table, although sitting may not be the right word for what he's doing. His head rests on top of his arm on the table, the one hand clutching his knife, the other a bottle of liquor. I notice the contents are spilled all over the table and hurry over to the kitchen to fetch a cloth. When I'm done wiping up the alcohol, I carefully take the flask out of his hand and put it with the other empty bottles. I occasionally drink with Haymitch but I've never been in this kind of stupor, probably because I throw up after only a small amount of alcohol. At least it is a small amount to Haymitch but he's had years of practice.

I think about waking him up right away but decide against it. He will just get angry. Okay, who am I kidding? He gets angry every time I wake him, no matter the circumstances. I go back to the kitchen that Hazelle so dutifully has cleaned. The whole house looks much nicer now. I rinse out the cloth and put it back in its original place. There's a pot of untouched soup on the stove and I decide to heat it for Haymitch. Food always seems to clear his mind just enough for decent answers. When it's done I put a large bowl of it in front of Haymitch and carefully lay my hand on his shoulder.

"Wake up, Haymitch. I heated up your dinner for you," I say in a much softer tone than I usually do.

He doesn't stir. My hand, still on his shoulder, shakes him a little more and finally he gives a moan and lifts his head up. He doesn't jump up or threaten me with his knife any more. He's used to me being here every second or third night. Ever since the announcement that changed everything. He doesn't ask why, he just accepts me being here. For some reason I get the feeling that he's the only person who can understand me. I don't even give Peeta that much credit although we've been through the first Games together. But it's not the same. He wasn't the one who pulled out the poison berries and gave people cause for a rebellion. He's not the one being threatened by President Snow. When I'm dead he can go back to his life in the Victor's Village as if nothing ever happened. I bet he knows nothing about the kind of nightmares that haunt me. But I can tell Haymitch does. Coming out of the 50th Hunger Games a victor destroyed him.

"I heated up the stew Hazelle made you," I repeat because I doubt he heard it the first time. Haymitch grunts a thank you, still a little disoriented, but starts eating. I sit down on the chair next to him, quiet, waiting until he has finished. When he's done he reaches under the table and pulls out another bottle of what I hope isn't rubbing alcohol. It looks fishy, so when he offers it to me I politely decline with a mere shake of my head.

"What brings you here, sweetheart?" he asks. I remember that it used to annoy me, him calling me sweetheart. In the beginning, when we hardly knew each other, it always had a sarcastic ring to it. It was only after the Games that when he called me that, I didn't mind so much any more because I knew despite our differences he was glad we came out of there alive. Now it is just a nickname. Like Catnip.

"I'm here because of my family," I say. "If everything goes wrong, I want to know that they will be taken good care of. I know they can't keep the house. But food. And maybe a little money."

"I thought you had discussed this at length with Peeta. He will take care of them, don't doubt that," Haymitch replied earnestly.

"I said if everything goes wrong. Should I not be able to protect him in the Games. We must think about that."

Haymitch snorts. "Sweetheart, you really think I am a horrible person, right? That I'd take all my money that I can't possibly spend and let your mother and sister starve to death. Is that what you think of me?"

I hesitate. Of course I didn't think that for a second. Haymitch is bitter and he can be cruel, but he wouldn't actually forget about my family the second the canon sounded for me, would he? It hits me just then that I really don't know much about Haymitch. He doesn't let anyone get too close. Why would he? Everyone he's ever mentored is dead. Peeta and I are the exception.

"I'll give them money, I promise. They'll be able to buy any food they want and long as there is food to buy," he assures me when I don't answer his question.

I nod and whisper: "Thank you." But my thoughts are somewhere else. I am probably the closest thing to a friend that Haymitch has. At least I have become that in the past few weeks. I come to his house every other night. Sometimes we drink. Sometimes we talk. Never really both at the same time. I wonder what Gale would think about this if he knew. He knows about the night I first got drunk, the night I found out I was about to enter the Games for a second time. I wonder if Peeta has noticed since he lives just across the lawn. If my mother and Prim had ever noticed, they didn't mention it. If they have, what do they think we're doing here? What _are_ we actually doing here?

I lean back in the chair and stare at Haymitch, hoping he would say something and for a moment he just stares back and I can feel that he wants to speak but doesn't. Why doesn't he?

"I don't suppose they'll have some poison berries in the new arena?!" I say.

And there it is again. That look on his face like he's about to say something important. And this time he actually does.

"You know, you could get out of there alive. You've won once. You could do it again."

My heart sinks. I know... I know, I know, I know. If I really tried I could actually survive.

"We've talked about that, Haymitch. We're going to save Peeta," I sound more determined than I am at the moment, "You promised."

"I know, but I don't have to like it. Peeta is a nice guy but in the last Games he was just lucky. Any other girl from District 12 would have killed him. Even your precious sister Prim."

Prim. Good natured, lovely, little Prim. Would she have turned into a killer if it had been required of her? I would love to think she wouldn't have but I know better. I've been in the Games, for God's sake. At some point you just act on impulse or you're driven by the primal drive to live. I hate Haymitch for poisoning my mind with a thought like this. He just takes a sip from the bottle and keeps staring at me. I hope he goes blind from that stuff.

No, of course I don't actually hope that. But I don't even make an effort to reply. My mind was made up. I would do anything that I can so Peter will be the sole victor of the 75th Hunger Games. Suddenly Haymitch stands of from his chair and staggers across the room to his bedroom door. That is his way of saying: We're done for tonight. Go home. Usually no further words are exchanged but this time he turns around once more.

"You know, sweetheart. Part of me is still hoping you'll change your mind."

"I won't," I say. But I am not as convinced any more.

"Pity. Among all of them you're the company that is the least annoying."


End file.
